<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>12 Days by snapshotz</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28343115">12 Days</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapshotz/pseuds/snapshotz'>snapshotz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack Treated Seriously, Funny, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Tried, Post-Book 9: Scorpia Rising (Alex Rider), Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:53:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,432</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28343115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapshotz/pseuds/snapshotz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the monumentally bad ideas Ben had heard (and there had been too many to count), this had to be the worst.<br/>OR<br/>Alex experiences 12 days of a job that should really come with more health warnings.<br/>Cross-posting to ff.net as well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Meeting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>1409 hours, 09/12/2020</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Sitting on the sofa in office 1504 on the 15th floor of the Royal &amp; General Bank, Agent Benjamin Daniels had decided that life was good. He had caught up on paperwork from a simple, non-life-threatening mission, was drinking a cup of steaming vanilla latte that he had grabbed during his lunch break from Liverpool Street Station and feeling pretty good about life. He’d managed to avoid the slightly more clingy of his co-workers and was ahead of everything Christmassy that he had to do as well. Not to mention that his senior-ranking partner was in a meeting about something <em>and</em> he got the peace and quiet of <em>his</em> office for once. Yes, life was go -</p><p> </p><p>“She cannot do this to me!”</p><p> </p><p>Scratch that, life was looking a lot less rosy. Senior Agent Alexander Johnathon Rider had just returned from his meeting and with none of his usual tact, slammed open his office door to announce his arrival. What had gotten him so riled up that he had lost the control he valued so much, mused Ben. Alex was pacing the floor of his office, swearing in Russian and looking every bit his teenaged 17-year-old self. Knowing that interrupting such a rant would end badly, Ben waited until the senior agent had lost steam and flopped down in the corporate chair behind his desk, swinging his legs over the arm on one side and resting his back on the other.</p><p> </p><p>“So, are you allowed to tell me what happened?” Ben tried, not really expected an answer.</p><p> </p><p>Alex just sighed. “I might as well, before it hits the gossip mill downstairs,” He uprighted himself, then frowned and went back to his original position.</p><p> </p><p>Ben contemplated that his senior agent might be liquid.</p><p> </p><p>“So, the briefing was rather routine at the beginning. <em>Until</em> Mrs Jones announced that she’s at a conference for a few days in Berlin. 7 days to be exact. But, she says that she wants to stay off work for a few days - 5 more days. 12 days in total out of the country.”</p><p> </p><p>Ben frowned. “Who’s going to handle the division for 12 days? And in the run-up to Christmas as well.”</p><p> </p><p>“That is exactly what I asked. And do you know what they said? They said, ‘<em>Why, Agent Rider, how funny that you ask that, considering that you are the highest-ranking agent after the Head of Special Operations</em>’. So, for the <em>12 bloody days</em>, I am supposed to be handling the entire division. Ben, I didn’t even <em>know</em> that my clearance was high enough for taking over as the Chief Executive!”</p><p> </p><p>Okay, so that was a total lie. Alex knew exactly how high his clearance was even if he didn’t like flaunting it and the - wait, what? <em>Alex</em> was running point for 12 days? Ben felt his jaw drop as he finally registered the conversation.</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t, um, anyone else do it?” he asked rather weakly.</p><p> </p><p>Alex either didn’t notice the high pitch Ben’s voice had hit or more likely couldn’t find it in himself to care. “I wish. Nobody else wants to, saying that they have very important <em>plans</em>. I have <em>plans</em>, as well, Ben! Ugh, how do you think everyone would react if I ran away to Scandinavia?”</p><p> </p><p>The ridiculousness of the whole situation finally hit Ben like a truck and he started laughing. Of all the monumentally bad ideas he had heard of (and there had been too many to count), saying that a seventeen year old should hold the division together like they were asking of Alex was the worst.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut the bloody hell up, it isn’t funny.” Alex shot his junior partner a Look.</p><p> </p><p>Ben just laughed harder, slumping on the sofa and almost crying due to the exertion.</p><p> </p><p><em>Ping!</em> Alex’s phone lit up with a text notification and he looked down at the glowing screen. “Oh, it looks like James and Paul are in London and want to meet for coffee. You’re not helping anything, bloody useless you are Ben. Stop laughing and come on, you’re still on my protection detail.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Coffee at The May Fair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Practically stalking through the underground car park underneath the Royal &amp; General, Alex’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. He could barely think straight and was one push away from shoving back at anyone who annoyed him. Reaching into one of his styled but still practical combat trousers’ many pockets, he fished out his car keys and threw them to Ben, who almost dropped them. <em>Looks like I’m not the only one lost in thought.</em> The thought was a reassuring one, that he wasn’t the only person worried about the responsibility.</p><p> </p><p><em>Click-click!</em> The sound of the Aston Martin DBS Superleggera being unlocked jolted Alex back to the present. Just seeing the silver curves on the elegant machine brought a smile to his face - it was a late birthday present from the ever-elusive Smithers, wherever he now was in the world. It had saved his life on more than one occasion. And had come pretty tricked out in other areas as well.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, are you coming or not?” Ben had already sat down in the driver's seat on the right side of the car and was looking at him, all concerned.<em> Get a grip, Rider</em>, Alex couldn’t help mentally berating himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, just give me a minute,” Alex said, climbing into the front seat on the left side and clipping his seatbelt in.</p><p> </p><p>“So, where are we going?” Ben started the car and asked, Liverpudlian accent thickening in some silent worry for his partner.</p><p> </p><p>Feeling the soothing roar of the V12 engine and almost sinking into the leather seats, Alex replied, “The May Fair Hotel.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“It’s been a while, Paul,” James Sprintz walked across to his once-cellmate and pulled him into a one-armed ‘bro-hug’ before sitting on the sofa arranged around a table in the rooftop lounge of the hotel where he was staying. Two years after the <em>incident</em> at the academy, James had managed to bring some of the students together and one of the first to reach out had been Paul Roscoe. The whole thing had been slightly more difficult than expected with security concerns and whatnot, but it was nice speaking to someone who really understood rather than a stuck-up psychologist who wanted him to reconnect with the world around him. He was <em>plenty</em> connected, thank you very much.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, it has! How have you been doing? Still steady with Olivia?” the older boy said in a way of greeting, American accent resonating in his voice and a lopsided grin that almost always promised trouble on his face. At 18, he was one of the only older boys who had wanted to see how the others were coping. The others had responsibilities.</p><p> </p><p>“Liv is still amazing, we’re doing pretty well actually. Things with Vater are better than before too. And you and Finn?” he replied.</p><p> </p><p>“I honestly don’t deserve him. Oh, and I’ve already ordered and paid for coffee for all of us so it’s really on me. Yes, I got exactly what you guys usually want. Where’s Alex held up at?”</p><p> </p><p>“Alex is right here.” Like the spook that he was, Alex popped up right next to the table with another familiar face next to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, you made it! I thought you’d been launched halfway across the world or something like that in the half-hour since I texted you.” James watched as his friend rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch, an almost predatory grace in his movements.</p><p> </p><p>“Hullo, Alex, Daniels,” Paul said in a way of greeting his friend and the man who they’d often met whenever Alex had arranged to talk. After all, the boys from the academy had required protection from various threats to either them or their families. James remembered the rest of his private security placed in various positions around the lounge, blending pretty well with the other boy’s detail. Alex and Daniels had probably picked them out the second they had walked into the room though.</p><p> </p><p>“So, first things first, Scandinavia. Yay or nay?”</p><p> </p><p>Alex sighed and looked at Daniels. <em>Not good</em>, James thought, <em>he probably is going to get launched halfway across the world then.</em> Daniels merely shrugged as if to say that it was Alex’s call to break the news. The coffee arrived on the table, from a waiter dressed smartly in black.</p><p> </p><p>“Honestly, I think that it might have to wait.” Alex took a breath and glanced around. “<em>They</em> have an assignment for me. Don’t give me that look, guys. I don’t even have to leave the country. Theoretically, there isn’t much danger than an actual assignment either. I have to handle the whole division for 12 days while the boss takes a breather.” He took a sip of his coffee.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What</em>?” James and Paul said in that freaky unison that somehow always happened when Alex decided to announce something truly insane.</p><p> </p><p>Alex actually winced. “Well, yeah. So I figured that since you guys are here, you could give me some pointers on what to do. Ben isn’t much help, no offence.” Daniels just grimaced as if to say that he really didn’t know what to do either and carried on surveying the lounge with a cool gaze. “Stop staring.”</p><p> </p><p>That seemed to break Paul out of his shock. “Um, that’s a lot to take in. Are you sure that you want to do this though?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then why volunteer?” Paul asked, completely perplexed.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh.” Paul just straightened in his seat, took a sip of the cooling cup in front of him and went into what James liked to call lecture mode. “When dealing with people, you’re usually pretty good at playing politics. Just don’t antagonise them to get a reaction like you like to do. Don't argue either. Arguing with a fool just means that there’s two of them.”</p><p> </p><p>James figured that he should chip in as well. “If someone disagrees with you, just try to turn their own words against them to get what you wanted in the first place out of the conversation. If they want a rise out of you, don’t give it to them. Yeah, you already know this but smile and laugh at whatever they say. Play games with them.” It was a tactic that they all knew Alex already was reigning monarch of. Whether it was just some punk that had decided for some weird reason that he could pick a fight with the Rider kid or whoever that he got sent against on behalf of his boss, James had seen firsthand the effects of the trick. It was usually hilarious or life-threatening. No one could say that Alex didn’t live dangerously.</p><p> </p><p>“Talk in a reasonable manner, even if you don’t like them. Oh, and use the non-geographical accent. Also, taking over from your boss, even temporarily, is maybe going to put you in more danger than one of your regular assignments, especially if they think that you’re new and inexperienced. Has the company arranged for a 24/7 detail?” Paul added.</p><p> </p><p>Daniels looked for what passed as interested (for him at least) in this as well. “Yeah, they’ve agreed to a ‘round-the-clock detail even at home and I’ll be using a company vehicle for the whole time as well. Bulletproof, armoured, the whole shebang. Not that the Aston Martin isn’t bad at the job, but I think that they want a better impression than double-oh-seven.” Alex answered.</p><p> </p><p>“Speaking of impressions, there is no way that you are going to last if you wear <em>that</em>.” James couldn’t find a fault in that statement. Alex grinned in good-nature and nodded. Wearing thin-soled working boots, stylish-practical combat trousers and an oversized hoodie was the perfect outfit for a small teenage rebellion - Alex still liked to figuratively burn the rule book any which way he could - but wasn’t going to win any brownie points with the bosses.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re going shopping tomorrow, aren’t we?” Paul whinged, ever the drama queen.</p><p> </p><p>James just beamed, glad that the tension had been diffused at least for the moment. “Yes, we are. And your flight takes off late at night so there’s no escape. I’ll send the location and then we’ll find <em>you</em>, Cinderella, the perfect outfit to take to the ball.”</p><p> </p><p>Alex groaned in annoyance at the fairytale reference. “So does that make you my fair godmother? I’m flattered but will unfortunately have to refuse.”</p><p> </p><p>Paul laughed and contemplated for a second. “Hey, you’re running point. So everybody has to call you ‘sir’ now, don’t they?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, no. I already get enough of that tosh from Miles. The rest of the building would be too much to handle.”</p><p> </p><p>This time even Daniels had to laugh with them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, I’m a bit of a car geek. No, there is nothing that can be done about it. Also, Miles who is mentioned at the end is a minor character in Nightshade. He’s a trusted member of MI6, Crawley’s nephew and personal assistant.  He drove Alex to a safe house once.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Of Shopping Trips And Skinny-dipping</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>1614 hours, 10/12/2020</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“No, no and no.” Paul sighed. Despite hating shopping for anything in general, James had dragged him along to help Alex because, and he quoted, “what kind of bro would you be if you didn’t help?” Well, the joke was on both of them because he usually turned up to any important meeting wearing jeans and a t-shirt. After all, why bother? But this wasn’t about him, it was about Alex and him making the right impression in the right places.</p><p> </p><p>They had met up on a Saturday, when the City usually would have been half-asleep and lazy but with Christmas fast approaching, the streets were alive with people shopping last-minute or just indulging themselves in the festive spirit in the air, despite the rain that seemed to be staple in every British winter. Instead of Daniels, some other agent had joined Alex, older and probably injured in some way but still carrying himself like a soldier. Apparently Daniels had to run up to Liverpool for some sort of family emergency over the weekend but would be back as soon as he could.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, the shopping part of their trip was going rather slowly. Unanimously, they had decided not to go full-out formal with a suit because it just wouldn’t work. Something semi-formal would be better - Alex already had few good pairs of slim jeans that looked more like dress pants (yes, he was using American terminology for an English guy) and some neat dress shirts to go with them. There had even been a plain black blazer that just needed a few adjustments done and that would be finished before Sunday night, despite the tailor’s busy schedule. The only issue was that one blazer wouldn’t do and Alex would need some sort of waistcoat to match. Don’t forget the shoes, Paul’s treacherous mind supplied for him. Actually, those weren’t the only issues.</p><p> </p><p>Alex looked too damn good in anything. Whatever he tried on, he seemed to carry himself and it as if he’d worn in for every day of his life. Damn spies and their damn ability to blend in so well. It also didn’t help that he had gone undercover as a teenage model once - something he’d said just when they had met this morning - and was used to making wearing something like a trash bag the new trend. Everything looked good on Alex but nothing looked amazing like it should have.</p><p> </p><p>Not for the first time, Paul wished that his dad was still alive. Sure, they’d had their arguments and he’d been sent to a whack-job of a school, but the late Michael Roscoe’s stupid advice that he had never bothered to listen to might have come in handy. Paul knew for a fact that his dad would have known exactly what would suit Alex the best. He would have liked to meet Alex as well, he thought.</p><p> </p><p>Too late, he realised that James had asked something and that had answered in the positive without knowing what the question actually had been.. “Um, what was the question?”</p><p> </p><p>Alex rolled his eyes like the sassy drama queen he was. “He asked if you wanted to go skinny-dipping in the middle of December and you said yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did I?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I asked if we should go because you’ve been catatonic for the past ten minutes and we managed to get shoes in that time.” James deadpanned. “Also, Agent Lewis has an idea on where to find a good jacket.”</p><p> </p><p>“He does?”</p><p> </p><p>The agent - Lewis? I must have missed his name, stupid. - smiled and nodded at being recognised, even if it was a little late. “Follow me, sirs.” he remarked with a subtle amusement in his eyes, the kind that Paul could only pick out from three years of reading his business associates’ poker faces and many more of being a disappointment to everyone around him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It was in a hidden nook of an alley which most people would consider dodgy but was in fact supposed to be deceiving to the eye like any contact that Kegan Lewis knew. The shop itself was run by a couple who had nothing to do with intelligence but he knew of them through a former bunkmate from when he trained with The Regiment. He had claimed that the couple could outfit anyone up to the point where they were practically a new person.</p><p> </p><p>What his comrade had not mentioned was how eccentric the place was, to put it nicely.</p><p> </p><p>Colours and various fabrics of all types and styles were on every surface that could be seen. There wasn’t a wall that didn’t have something covering it and the floor was carpeted with a fabric so thick that it felt like walking on clouds. The radio was faintly playing some outdated channel with Christmas music that was being slowly murdered by the static in between words.</p><p> </p><p>Funnier than the whole shop was the reaction of the two boys who seemed to be good friends with Agent Rider. They were floundering with their mouths open like they’d never seen such a place before.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a novel experience for them, Lewis,” Agent Rider whispered in his ear as not to let his friends hear while silently creeping up behind him, looking very amused.</p><p> </p><p>Then the owner turned up. “Ah, who do I have the pleasure of embellishing today? And pray tell what it is you are looking for.” Okay, what normal person uses the word ‘embellishing’ in a conversation?, Kegan thought.</p><p> </p><p>“Me, I guess. We’re looking for a smart blazer and a waistcoat that would look with it.” Rider stepped forward and glanced around to see if he could find the items himself, unlikely in such a place.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm, semi-formal, I’m assuming? Well, we’ve had a few come in that might just be to your liking. Navy blue, black and maybe a lighter grey would do. Your physique is also very good, a waist of 31 inches and a chest of about 39.5 inches, I’m guessing. Might as well be a model with that. You do have quite broad shoulders though, but that won’t be an issue!” the woman chirped.</p><p> </p><p>Wow, I guess that they are good, Lewis thought, slightly flabbergasted. Looking at his protectees for the day, he wasn’t the only one.</p><p> </p><p>Rider looked at his acquaintances and then at the store manager, who seemed to be completely clueless to the gobsmacked looks she was getting. “Well, what have you got for me?” he said slowly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Settling In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>0807 hours, 12/12/2020</b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>In the still of the almost-morning, Alex sat with a mug of steaming tea in his hands. From the reinforced glass doors at the back of the kitchen, the clear sky was visible over the city as it slowly changed from light pastel pinks to deeper orange hues. It was going to be a bright, crisp day with no clouds on the horizon, making the morning even more serene and the cold outside even more biting. The city of London itself was almost unnoticeably shifting awake, bringing with it the sounds of pigeons cooing and early-morning commuters’ cars, with distant ambulances’ sirens ringing out, responding to an emergency somewhere. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The doorbell rang, temporarily shattering the ambience.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Up and at them, Rider,” Alex murmured to himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>In a conference room on the 12th floor of the Royal &amp; General, six people sat around a glass table with another dozen seats empty. The table itself stretched almost from wall to wall with a view of Liverpool Street Station outside the reinforced windows. Samantha Redwing sat to the right of the newly-appointed Chief Executive, if only temporary, of MISO. Directly opposite her sat John Crawley, as inconspicuous as ever in another one of his blasé suits. The other people in the room with her were Mary Makepeace, constantly transcribing everything that was being said; Crawley’s private assistant Miles and Agent Ben Daniels.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Alex looked quite comfortable in his role as the head of the table, but Redwing could imagine what was going on inside his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It must be like the first day of secondary school again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she silently mused, only half-attentive to the conversation going on around her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The same things to learn, but more. The same kinds of people, but more of them. The same sort of rules, but applied differently. The same role to play, but just bigger. The same responsibilities, but more of them. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Redwing surveyed the room again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A </span>
  </em>
  <span>lot </span>
  <em>
    <span>more responsibility. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex was speaking in a cool, measured tone, the one that he usually reserved for his mission debriefings, the only difference being the almost unnoticeable (only to the trained ear) upper-class accent that coloured his calculated words. “Mrs Jones has notified the Permanent Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs that we’ll need some time to adjust to the situation before giving a report on the state of affairs here. Is there anything else that we need to address?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody answered for a few seconds. Redwing spoke up, “Are you okay with all of this?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a strange question to say the least, one that was silently weighing on everyone in the room, but a question that only she could have asked, in a way. It was satisfying to see Rider paused for a second and his eyes go slightly out of focus, refusing to look at the reflective surface of the table under his still hands. Whatever he said next would almost certainly be a lie, Redwing knew. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose we’ll have to find out.” He stood up and made for the door, signalling that the meeting and the conversation were both over.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“This needs signing and that’s it for that mission.” Kegan Lewis stood to the side of the desk in room 1504. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not much has been changed since the last person sat in this office</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he inspected the room while Agent Rider flipped through the mission debrief and then signed his name at the end to approve the document. It looked as if Daniels was uncharacteristically absent but probably working on some premature research of his own in his open-plan office cubicle lower down the building.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Agent Lewis. How else can I help you?” Rider smiled politely, and Lewis couldn’t help but compare this man to the one who he had met with just two days before. Wearing beige chinos, a light blue shirt tucked neatly in and a dark blazer on top, he looked every bit the ruthless corporate leader of a bank - or a secret spy division - that the lower levels had been buzzing about in the morning. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s going to be great at this, given enough time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his old drill sergeant piped up gruffly in his head. Lewis shoved the voice aside and cleared his throat.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“We haven’t gotten a report from that agent who’s undercover at the Facility. Um, his name is… Iggy?” Lewis couldn’t help but be slightly puzzled at the absurd codename, but he’d learned pretty early in his days, even as a soldier, to roll with the punches and not to ask meaningless questions.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s already sent his report to me. I’ll have someone put a copy in the archives, don’t worry.” Was that a fleeting spark of amusement in Rider’s eyes? Lewis knew that he would have </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>to play poker with him at any point, even with all the experience that he currently had. Or bet against him for that matter. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Rider was still looking at him curiously, almost as if he could read everything that was going on in Lewis’ mind and he found it to be quite funny. He’d seen that stare used a lot during some of the more </span>
  <em>
    <span>creative </span>
  </em>
  <span>interrogation sessions and it never failed to either give him the chills or make him break out laughing in pity for the poor soul who had decided that it was a good day to be the reason for Rider's bad day.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agent Lewis?” Rider prompted, looking up from another file on his desk. “Can you ask Agent Daniels to come up here if you see him, please?” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A clear dismissal. Maybe the sergeant in his head was right. Rider really could do this and be good. No, he would be <em>better.</em></span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, this has kinda thrown a spanner into the works and given me a major headache, because I can't think of major headaches to give Alex (except for the ending, which I guess is weird - I have the start, end, but nothing in between).  Any help?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Colonel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>1547 hours, 12/12/2020</b>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex walked briskly into the conference room where he’d only been hours previous. The only difference was that it was empty. Well, almost.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>As-Salaam-Alaikum</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Colonel Manzour,” he said, inclining his head respectfully to go with the traditional Arabic greeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wa-Alaikum-as-Salaam</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Agent Rider. I see you’re doing well for yourself.” The man replied from the screen on one end of the room, linked to a laptop on the gleaming table where Alex sat down on one of the seats on the side. “I had hoped that you’d escaped all of this but we meet again, it seems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Was that a flicker of regret in the Colonel’s eyes? Perhaps. He had shown his own sort of sympathy to Alex during the aftermath of Project Horseman. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Right, don’t think about that. “Well, things didn’t work out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose not. What can we do for MISO today then?” Straight down to business. Alex appreciated the no-nonsense approach compared to the word games that all the other intelligence directors liked to indulge in.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need support for two agents that are not far from Cairo. They’ve requested immediate extraction and there aren’t any UK military units close enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why Unit Triple Seven then? Going behind the GID’s back won’t end too well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mrs Jones had already got their permission for this operation, what we need now is your support to carry it out. Why would you think that I would skip jumping through a few hoops before getting to this point?” Alex smirked, knowing that the other man would have to think about the question, though not for very long.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if I told you that GID isn’t being the most cooperative when it comes to its special forces?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>It looks like we’re back to word games. Well, it was nice while it lasted.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then that wouldn’t be my concern, Colonel. Can you send a team to extract my agents?” Alex leaned backwards and examined his nails, slowly flexing the muscles in his right wrist, fully aware of the slightly surprised flash of emotion on the Colonel’s face. He nodded understandingly after a long moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t blame you for wanting to avoid getting into the political mess here. But why Unit Triple Seven?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’d think that you would be more inclined to hear me out. Previous circumstances and all of that. Not that your team is needed, though. I hear that the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Commandement des Opérations Spéciales </span>
  </em>
  <span>currently has a team near that could exfil the agents instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat of silence, only amplified by the muted buzz of the electronics in the room. Then, “You drive a hard bargain, Agent Rider.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex shrugged and smiled, genuine this time, at the hidden </span>
  <em>
    <span>respect </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the statement. “Take it or leave it, Colonel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pass on the details to my department then. I’ll have Shadia look at them and organise a connection for your team to watch the operation from your headquarters. You have the backing of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>mukhabarat </span>
  </em>
  <span>already, so that isn’t an issue. When do they need to be out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“As soon as you can organise the team, if possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Urgently, then. Got it. Can I ask why they need to be extracted so quickly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scorpia.” Alex felt a familiar chill in the room as he said the name, tensing his shoulders minutely before relaxing. When he spoke again, his voice had a flat, dead quality to it, the type that came out of speaking almost on auto-pilot and not allowing himself to feel anything but numbness. “It’s a small splinter cell, but still trained and deadly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man imperceptibly winced at Alex’s enunciation of the statement. He nodded, sensing that Alex needed a moment to gather his bearings. “I’ll make sure that the team is experienced enough to escape with everyone’s lives intact. Not half scared to death for the both of the agents. You’ll only get half of the intel from each of them if they are that way!”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a weak attempt at breaking the tension and they both knew it, but Alex felt grateful that the man had at least tried. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, any other reason why you need my help specifically?” the Colonel asked, hooking onto the one thing that Alex didn’t want to discuss.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said before, you’d be more inclined to hear me out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He just sighed and muttered something probably unflattering in Arabic, likely about</span>
  <em>
    <span> stubborn kids these days</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I’m going to give you some advice, not because you need it, but because I want to see you get through this alive.” Seeing Alex open his mouth, likely to protest, Manzour just cut him off with a wave of his hand. “You are not going to get it all. You are going to fail. You are going to mess up. You are not going to save everyone. You are going to make the right call, but also the wrong one. You are going to end up hurting a lot of people, and even more will hate you for hurting them. But if you do not hurt anyone, then you are doing this whole job wrong. By giving you this, Mrs Jones has placed a lot of trust in you - it will either make or break your whole career. In the end, do whatever it takes. As you westerners say, the ends justify the means.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex thought about that and answered the only way he could think of. “Did</span>
  <em>
    <span> I </span>
  </em>
  <span>justify the ends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence again. That seemed to be a recurring point in their conversation. “Maybe it did, maybe it did not. But it has defined who you are in many ways today, has it not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Я то, что ты заставил меня,” Alex said in way of reply, still deep in thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I am what you made me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, that turned out shorter and angsty-er than I expected. Meh, whatever.<br/>The last line is from Russian Roulette, and yes I chucked it into three online translators so it's probably wrong but I find it's a nice touch. How did Alex get Yassen's memory stick? I don't know, but he has it secretly from MI6 somehow.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Playing a Game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>0654 hours, 13/12/2020</b>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Ben ran, covering the uneven concrete on the pavement in long strides that seemed effortless to anyone’s gaze. God, he’d forgotten how much he missed this. The constant repetition that seemed to be in time with his heartbeat, the adrenaline well-used that finally had an outlet, the sharp morning air in his lungs, the thoughts cleared away, even if only temporarily. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Ahead of him by a few metres, Alex was also running at the same pace, looking for all the world like he was another college student who wanted to stay fit to maintain a good image. Workout clothes, blond hair flying in the wind, trainers a steady beat to the natural rhythm of early-morning London, phone an obvious outline in his back pocket, one of his AirPods in his right ear, but still listening to his surroundings. Looks were deceptive when it came to Alex, Ben couldn’t help but think. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Last night had been rougher than usual. Alex had woken up half a dozen times, probably because of the new stress on him, before slipping into a semi-conscious state and waking up earlier than usual - the security team had told him. While running may have endangered Alex - in terms of security - even more, Ben knew that it would be better if Alex’s mind wasn’t racing faster than his feet. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>They had been running for some time now, Alex always leading, seemingly aimlessly in a strange meander of the neighbourhood, followed by a quick crossing over Chelsea Bridge and then in a straight line of the river embankment underneath the bare trees of Battersea Park. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Finally slowing down by the gate of black metal gate at the end of the pathway, Alex stretched his arms, moving to keep the worst of the cold at bay, and waited for Ben to catch up. He did the same and they walked up the slight incline to stand in the centre of Albert Bridge.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>They shared a comfortable silence as they caught their breath for a while, before Ben asked, “What are you thinking about?”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“I think that you already know the answer to that question.” He did know. Alex was just back to twisting his statements to avoid answering again.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“I still want to hear it from you.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Alex sighed, making his breath a cloud of smoke. “I’m just thinking. What would things be like if all of this didn’t happen?” He didn’t have to elaborate on what <em> this </em>was. “Most people would inherit some strange heirloom from their parents, some land if they were lucky, maybe a bit of debt if they were unlucky enough.” He laughed humorlessly and turned to kean with his back against the barrier, almost not seeing the bridge for what it was but a scene from some other time. “Me? I get a blood feud with the world’s largest crime syndicate. Puts a lot of things into perspective, doesn’t it?”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Ben knew that there was nothing he could say to make Alex feel any better. “I guess it does.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>They stood in silence again, watching the dark sky turn to something lighter and the few people who had braved the cold either to exercise or travel, just Alex humming and singing at random intervals to the music in his ears.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Your eyes are coated from feelings too strong, my legs are weak from always moving on. You come back hard in my mind every song, we used to sing but now I sing alone, </em>” he whispered, the softly-said lyrics almost lost in the wind. Almost.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>1209 hours, 13/12/2020</b>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Alex sighed, sinking further into his chair. Paperwork. Could he ever escape from it? Sure, most of his college work was online now but he had written like a maniac during his GCSEs and he was more than used to lengthy reports while working as an agent, but repeatedly <em> writing </em> was just taxing. On his mind and wrist. Honestly, he was starting to see the reason that Blunt seemed so cold - just hours of paperwork would do that to someone.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Being the head of an intelligence agency, or at least a part of it, was just as hard as it sounded. The rest of the senior agents were accepting enough, seeing as they were used to him lurking in the corridors of the higher levels. The lower clearance officers and analysts were another story. They hadn’t even known that Alex <em> existed </em>as an agent, let alone as someone with enough clearance to run MISO.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The rumour mill the day before had been working faster than some of the agents to clarify the situation.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The stack of files by his desk seemed almost endless, it was a stupid notion. Alex knew that he’d have to stop sometime for lunch, but facing the cafeteria seemed to be another hell in itself. <em> Stop. </em> Right, he couldn’t think like that if he was going to get through this. No signs of weakness. Any good agent who had an inch of sense could use even the smallest things against him.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Once again, the universe seemed to hate him. Once again, what made Jones think that <em> Alex </em> of all people was the best candidate for the job? For the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out, even after the video call he’d made the night before to deliver a report of the day’s events. What was she playing at? He didn’t know and couldn’t figure it out with the limited breathing space he had.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Three sharp raps on the wooden door knocked him out of the puzzle Alex was turning around in his head. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“Come in,” he called out, looking back down at the file under his hands.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>A smartly-dressed young man in a navy blue suit poked his head around the corner of the door. He seemed to be tense, but was hiding it well, but not well enough. “Sir, we have a problem that requires your immediate attention,” he respectfully said, his grip on the door a tad too tight and his eyes quickly darting around the office.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Again, what had made Jones think that he was cut out for this? There was no point in wondering though, there were other things that had to be done.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Alex stood up. “Lead the way.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Sir, a hacker almost made their way in the outer firewalls of our defence system,” Samantha Redwing stated as Alex walked through the door of the space where part of the servers that contained all the information MISO handled was stored.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“How?” Alex frowned. When she had joined the agency, Redwing had added to layers of cybersecurity made by the country’s brightest, including several reformed white-hat hackers and of course, Smithers.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“I don’t know exactly how, but they triggered one of the failsafes by accident that kicked them out before they did any damage. I think.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“You think?”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“I think. I can’t be certain, sir.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“What did they even try to do then?”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“An out-of-band SQL injection. And a rather advanced one as well. I made a screenshot of the code before they could erase all of it, so we have a bit of their footprint. I can see if we can match it to any hacker that Interpol already knows.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“Any chance that a criminal organization is behind this?”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“It’s possible, sir. Fortunately most of the higher clearance files are paper-based. Like your file, for example.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“How did they even get access to a part of the system then? They would need to get in via a web browser but they’ve all been secured.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“It’s a busy time of year. A lot of requests to access a website can lead to an unintentional DDoS, so smaller business’ websites are probably rerouting a lot of excess traffic through third party services. And if the hacker managed to get into a less secure server and then jump from there…”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“It would give them access to our servers.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Redwing watched Alex turn the problem over in his head. “Can you trace the code’s origin using the screenshot even if you can't find out who it is?”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“I can try, of course.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“Do it. Go to the main servers as well and make sure that they didn’t breach the firewalls there. Once you’ve traced the source IP of the attack, I can send someone to see what it is. Though it might be a trap to draw us out or test our defences.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“Regardless of the possibility that the hacker or whoever they’re working for trying to trap us, it’s the right call to check it out, just in case.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Alex's eyes smiled a bit at that. “Go and get lunch then Redwing. Tracing the code might take a while.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“We’ll quickly run down to the cafeteria then. It’s supposed to be my lunch break anyway. Come on, you need to eat something as well.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This seems kinda filler-ly but there is a point to the slightly random situations, I promise</p><p> </p><p>The song that Alex is singing is NEFFEX ‘Without You’. I couldn’t think of anything, I was listening to it while writing that and there are probably more appropriate songs on my playlist but meh. It does have some NSFW language if you want to listen to it - it’s kinda love it or hate it. </p><p> </p><p>I’m not a hacker, I promise. I had to research SQL injections, even though I know what SQL is and how a DDoS attack works. Blame me for being an overachiever when I want to be.</p><p> </p><p>I kinda got sidetracked with ‘Live Fast, Drive Faster’ but I’m baaaaaack! Sorry for taking so long with this chapter as well. Hopefully, I can churn out the remaining ones quicker as some of them are pretty much half-written already.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Where Are They?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Um, I exist? So this is a bit overdue but online classes are murder and I have never been more tempted to throw an electronic device out of a window. Since I value my laptop, I haven’t yeeted it though. But yeah, let me know what you think since this obviously isn’t the best I’ve written</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>1337 hours, 14/12/2020</b>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex walked briskly into the conference to be met with the grim face of the Colonel once again. This time, there were no greetings.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are my agents safe?” Alex asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“The convoy set off to get them and their final orders were given at 1403 hours, Eastern European Standard Time. The extraction went well to begin with. My team managed to get to both of them safely, but escaping afterwards was its own issue.” That wasn’t a good sign. Deflecting the question to technically answer it but not answer it at the same time was interrogation tactics 101.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“What went wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone tipped off the Scorpia forces. It was a trap and we walked right into it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did everyone get out then?” Alex almost demanded. Words games, how he hated word games.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of your agents - the male one - only has superficial injuries. He will heal to be back on active duty in a few months. The other - Arianna Cel Tradat - had to be given immediate medical treatment. She is stable at the moment, and being airlifted back to St. Dominic’s as we speak. But it was close. One member of the unit was permanently injured enough to be taken out of the field. He was due for a promotion anyway. The rest of the team has only been minorly injured, which is our good fortune, considering who we were sent up against.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did they know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody in our department was even told who they were going up against until the very last moment. Apart from the leader of the squadron. You may remember him from the assault on the fort at Siwa. He is completely trustworthy. It was not anyone from our side of the operation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have a mole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Correct.” He paused. “What are you going to do about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex thought about it for a few seconds. “The cyber attack yesterday. That has to be linked to this, because the network intrusion was detected at pretty much the same time as the operation began. I have to check in with my senior Scientific Officer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go then. Why are you still talking to me? You have things to do.” he huffed, as if it was Alex’s fault for standing still like a guppy.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Colonel. For everything.” Alex turned to walk out of the room once again, the call on the laptop screen cutting as the other man smiled and disconnected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Back in Redwing’s office, the Scientific Officer was having a tough time trying to trace the network intrusion. The signal seemed familiar, even if it was behaving in a way that she couldn’t quite remember seeing before. A blend of styles, not restricted to any one country or hacker. This person, whoever it was was good. They’d clearly had experience masking their identity through the source code they were using. The type of techniques being used could be used to pin the blame of their hacking on any one a dozen different countries, and sneak away with popcorn to safely watch the fallout. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, that was what she would have done if that was her code doing the attacking. Come to think of it, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>done the same before as part of MISO.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Redwing, tell me you’ve made some progress.” Alex Rider had turned up right next to her desk, spooking her out of mentally beating up whoever the hacker was.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I can tell you who it isn’t.” she offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s as good a place as any to start from.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve ruled out any African, Asian or South American syndicate. The network intrusion has come from somewhere closer to home than that.  Also, there is no possibility that a single person has done this on their own. It’s either a criminal organisation or a hired group of cyber specialists who have been paid by a criminal organisation. Have you got anything that would help in the search?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“The attack was detected just a few minutes after a convoy received their final orders in Cairo, which included the details of who they were up against. That has to be linked to this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“What convoy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unit Triple Seven. I called in a favour to extract Agents Cel Tradat and Claunach. They were on a mission that included a splinter cell of Scorpia operatives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> makes a lot more sense. Scorpia being involved is something that I can say this code can be traced back to. This code is a lot more of their style. But, I still need to find the IP address that the hack came from and it’s bouncing around in a way that seems familiar. I just can't remember where I’ve seen it…”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. Can I see what the code is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Redwing shifted her chair so Alex could stand in front of her computer screen. He studied the screenshot that she’d taken, titling his head slightly to think. “That really does look familiar, have you tried comparing it to any cyberattacks we’ve seen in the past?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have but nothing has turned up. There was one line that matched a hacker that we managed to turn to work for us, but I consulted with him and he doesn’t recognise the screenshot either. His style of writing code has developed in the past few years to be almost completely unrecognisable to what he used to write, so it wasn’t him. The same issue lies in following the source code to previously known hackers. They’ve adapted and changed from the records we have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep on trying, but take a break in between as well. Daniels wants to meet with me, so I have to go now.” He turned to the door and the wood closed with a final click. Redwing sighed and followed his route out to get some coffee. It looked as if she would be needing it.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Betrayed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <b>1343 hours, 14/12/2020</b>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Ben,” Alex greeted the dark-haired man who was sitting on the sofa in the corner of his office. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir,” he grinned back, like the annoying person he liked to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drop the ‘sir’ nonsense. I’m already sick of it.” </span>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alex, then.” He was still wearing a smile, the one that promised something </span>
  <em>
    <span>not good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “How have you been for the last few days?”</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine. Drowning in more paperwork than usual, a bit stressed from the pressure to perform but it’s nothing I haven’t felt before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t what I meant. How have you been?” Ben tried again.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who died and made you a therapist?” the younger couldn’t help muttering under his breath. Couldn’t Ben just stop for a while?</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex, talk to me.” Apparently not then.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said, I’m fine.” Alex attempted, more strongly than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try again. Have you been taking breaks properly? Eating and drinking water? Sleeping soundly?” Ben had seen right through the facade anyway. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why do I even bother sometimes, convincing Ben that I’m fine when he knows already</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Alex thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben, I’ll be fine.” he tried changing the statement a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure about that?” It seemed Agent Daniels was fast on a trail and he wasn’t letting go then.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Alex shot back indignantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if there are any issues?”</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can handle it. Besides, I know that if I can’t then all the senior agents are here, right?” he retaliated, voice a bit less certain at the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben saw the last statement as the question it was, a small confirmation of support. “Yes, we are here. You just need to trust us to help.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex could feel himself untense a bit at that. “Good. Okay, anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess not. I’m making sure you get home today though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I’m not eleven, Ben.”</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but trouble follows you and I would rather you have support when that happens.” He paused. “I’ve jinxed it, haven’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex snorted a bit at that. “Understatement. Anything else to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, fine. Since you’re so keen to get rid of me, I’m going to go pretend to be a productive member of Six.”</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could always send you on assignment. I’ve done it to a few others but they were due a missio-” The door slammed shut behind the older agent. Alex sighed in exasperation and smiled. Some people never do learn… </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <b>1744 hours, 14/12/2020</b>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The car ride back to Alex’s Chelsea townhouse was spent in comfortable silence, neither of the partners having anything to say or willing to speak for the time being, and the driver knowing that anything said would be met with almost immediate consequences.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>After what felt like eons, the Jaguar finally pulled into the gravel driveway.  </span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben noticed something and had to ask. “Where’s your car? The Aston Martin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex looked up, started from whatever was going through his head. “Smithers contacted me on Sunday, when you were up in Liverpool. Said he wanted to fit a few new experiments of his on to the Aston before Christmas. I said he could since I’m using the company car for the next nine days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” He received the ‘all clear’ from the team watching the house and climbed out of the car, waiting for Alex to do the same before approaching the front door. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just thinking,” he replied. He was definitely thinking but it was probably time for a break. </span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t hurt yourself,” he teased, covering up his concern with a joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex, unlocking the front door, just responded with a weak smile. That was new. And worrying. Even on a mission, the younger agent still found time to make the most absurd comments, usually when things went wrong or someone was injured or killed. It was an unhealthy coping strategy, dark humour, but apparently Alex was feeling exhausted enough to not have a comeback. If he was simply tired, the snark would have gotten worse (or better, it really was depending on what end of it you were on).</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to stay for dinner?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“I might as well. Finish up on some things and keep an eye on you at the same time.” Ben tried again to get a better reaction, gauging how done Alex was. The boy just ‘hmm’ed at him. Definitely not good. </span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you making for dinner?” Ben asked as they walked in.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably some kind of stir-fry. Quick and easy.” Alex dropped the keys onto a small table and took his shoes off, stretching before making his way to the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Making the security team jealous with better food than the take-away they would be eating, huh?” he called out to the agent who was well upstairs by that point.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re helping me make it if you want any, so I wouldn’t get ahead of myself.” his voice rang out, slightly muffled by the floor between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <b><br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well played, Alex, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ben thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Getting me to do half the work if I want to eat. Meh, it’s worth it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b><br/>
0928 hours, 15/12/2020</b>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex walked through the white halls of St. Dominic’s hospital. This, however, was one of the few times when it wasn’t because he was being treated and going stir-crazy as a result of it. No, he was visiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d already talked to the doctor who was treating Agent Cel Tradat’s injuries. She had been rendered medically unconscious because of the amount of pain she was in but she would probably wake up and heal quickly. Moderate brain damage was yet to be determined but the odds weren’t too bad. It was mostly blood loss that was the issue, and from a quick glance at her file while he was in the car, Cel Tradat was tough to keep down under any circumstance. Alex had asked to be informed when she woke up, no matter what time of the day it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex was here for someone else though. Agent Brendan Cluanach. Second floor. Room 14.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Giving the nurse at the end of the corridor a nod, he knocked on the man’s door and walked in after a few seconds. The other man was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing casual clothes and signing a few forms - discharge papers or a mission report then. From the look of it, he already had been expecting Alex but was still surprised to see someone so young. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, sir,” he said. Cool and professional. That was a good sign. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Agent Cluanach. How are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the mend, sir. I’ll be fine. Just a few nasty cuts. The worst damage they managed is a bruised ego and a broken nose.” He lightly touched said nose, the splint on the crooked feature clearly hurting him, but he only winced slightly. “This will probably be crooked for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably.” Alex responded curtly. The file had said that the agent was talkative by nature and generally well-liked by first impressions alone, making him a valuable aspect of an intelligence-gathering operation. No point in suspecting the person who couldn’t keep their mouth shut if it was something as small as gossip to be trusted with state secrets.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t exactly say the same about Cel Tradat though. I heard that they put her under, to help with the pain. How is she?” Asking about his colleague rather than the operation. That meant he already knew what had happened and the conclusions drawn from it. Forward-thinking and self-motivated, good traits of any employee, intelligence or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s still unconscious.” Alex answered, testing the waters to see how much Cluanach knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not good to say. When will she wake up?” There was no faking the concern in his eyes - along with something else familiar. Alex couldn’t pinpoint it exactly.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“The doctors think sometime in the next two days.” Actually, they had said that she was already starting to show some signs of responding and probably would be fully conscious by the end of the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, sir. Anyway, my final report for this mission will be on your desk tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re on medical leave for the next two weeks as well.” Alex reminded him, letting a small smile across his face. Fake but there was something </span>
  <em>
    <span>off </span>
  </em>
  <span>about this guy.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, sir. I just need to pick up a few things from my desk. As soon as I’m discharged.” he gave another one of his ‘winning’ smiles at him, presumably trying to keep a civil tongue without offending someone that he wanted answers from. Namely why someone so young would be put in charge.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong><br/>
<br/>
</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>But then again, Alex was wondering the same thing, so it looked like no one would be getting the answer they wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong><br/>
2201 hours, 15/12/2020</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alex was sitting in his office. With more paperwork. It was well past the end of the working day, but there was always more to do. More forms to sign. More mission reports to review. More missions to approve.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He was reading Agent Cluanach’s report. The man had already gone home and his final report was on his desk as promised earlier. Alex had told himself just to scan through it, leaving it for tomorrow but he had gone through the entire thing twice. And it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The whole thing was perfectly written and concise, sure. Telling everything that had happened and how it had gone wrong. The only problem was that it made sense. Too much sense for Scorpia being involved. Too much sense for an almost hellish operation. Alex didn’t like that, it was slightly unreasonable but his instinct was telling him to talk to the man again.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The door almost burst open, revealing namely one Miles Crawley, breathing hitched ever so slightly. He must have run all the way to Alex’s office to tell him something if the lift was in use then. But if </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>of all people had decided not to knock on the door, this was probably really very bad.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, we have an emergency. As in, a national security type emergency.” he huffed out. He looked deadly serious, staring right into Alex’s eyes despite the worry lines on his face. “Mr Crawley and Officer Redwing sent me to get you as quickly as possible.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This feels like deja vu, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alex thought as he shot up, banging his knee on the bottom of his desk in the process. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or maybe not.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the situation?” he asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agent Rider, this is Lieutenant Commander Roy Constance. He’s on board the HMS </span>
  <em>
    <span>St Albans</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the North Sea at the moment.” Crawley greeted Alex with a quick introduction as soon as he walked into the video conference room with Miles. He stood by the door in the corner of the room, simply observing everything going on. Redwing and another man were both on the side of the room, typing furiously at laptops, presumably something to do with the threat.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re who’s running this outfit?” the man on screen said, not really asking. He was sitting in some kind of control room on board a ship, glowing screens and navigation systems lighting up the dark background behind the smartly-uniformed man.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am. What’s the issue?” Alex said politely. His body had tensed a bit, Crawley noticed from the corner of his eye, as if ready for combat. Not that there was any physical fighting to do.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“A network intrusion detected by one of my Midshipmen earlier. It didn’t try to access intel but simply travelled through our onboard system.” he answered curtly. Probably wasn’t happy about that.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“This concerns MISO exactly how?” Crawley piped in. He hadn’t been informed of whatever the threat was yet, the Lieutenant Commander saying that it was better to wait for the Chief Executive for him to repeat it. He could also see the cogs turning in Alex’s head as he tried to guess how this related to them.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it matches the one that tried to get into your systems two days ago.” That wasn’t exactly public knowledge, or even available to the other departments of the MoD. “One part of the code was bounced through my ship. They called it the Onion Route, with some other more technical terms.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for that knowledge but that still doesn’t explain why I am needed. You have told Officer Redwing this without me.” Alex chose that moment to pipe in, matching the Lieutenant Commander’s tone.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“My sailor managed to trace a part of the singal.” He paused. “The origin point of it, to be exact. It’s a computer inside your building.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Dead silence. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Redwing, talk to me.” Alex turned to the Chief Science Officer, voice tense. An understatement, actually. And understandable. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How? </span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s right. We’re working to trace exactly which desktop it’s from but it’s definitely part of our network.” Redwing shot back, not even looking up at them. She seemed to falter for a second, then went back to frowning at the screen.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’ve got it.” the younger man standing next to her chipped in. He looked to be in his mid-twenties and his eyes shone with the same curiosity as the analysts on the lower floors. “Tariq Khaled, I’m a Network Manager. One line of the program came from my old code, sir. But that’s beside the point.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex nodded at him to stop right before he said anything too classified. Then he turned to the larger video screen in the darkened room. “Thank you, Lieutenant Commander, for telling us this on such short notice.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it keeps the country safe from immediate threat, there’s no point in playing politics. Good luck, Agent Rider.” He cut the call.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex looked away from the screen after a few moments of deliberation, staring right into space. “Whose desk, Mr Khaled?” he asked.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, Agent Arianna Cel Tradat. Room 1234, floor 12.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex froze, as did Redwing from where she was. “That’s not right, is it?” she asked.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. It isn’t.” Alex took a deep breath. This was somewhat familiar territory, investigating a case and drawing conclusions. “She’s been unconscious for two days and on an operation in Egypt for three weeks before that.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who else has access to her office?” Crawley asked. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Khaled kept a cool head, answering immediately, “Anyone who was an active mission partner. How they would get into her desktop is something else. They would have to access it in person, not remotely, and have the correct codes. Codes that someone in the cyber department would have…” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brendan Cluanach. Her partner for the mission.” Alex realised, knowing what the look in the agent’s eyes had been in the hospital. Guilt. “But he can’t have done this alone.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. He’s working with a member of the cyber division, so pulling up records of whoever had access to the computers on the twelfth floor two days.” Redwing spun back towards her laptop. “So, Héctor Kike, Junior Network Analyst.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled up an image and Alex recognised him almost immediately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sir, we have a problem that requires your immediate attention,” he respectfully said.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The man in the navy suit who had been sent to get Alex when the intrusion had been detected. Why he was so nervous wasn’t because of Alex. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It was because he knew that he had failed. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, I’ve got CCTV records from earlier today.” Khaled jumped in. “Cluanach and Kike both left the building together today. Strange?” It really wasn’t a question from the grim look on his face.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. They’re working together. Redwing, Khaled, start running facial recognition in the direction that they went in. Track them down. If they’re running, they have a head-start of more than a few hours, so you’ll have to work quickly. Crawley, mind if I borrow Miles until tomorrow? Ben has already gone home.” At Crawley's quick nod, Alex continued to take charge. “Miles, check their offices for anything that might tell us more about their undercover operation. And Cel Tradat’s room, just in case anything is hidden there. I’ll help. Everyone has pretty much gone home, so we won’t be disturbed.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them nodded from their various places in the room and set off for their assigned tasks, leaving Crawley and Alex to stand in the blue glow of the screen behind them.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess we’re working a late night, then, Agent Rider. We’ll stick around to see it through.” Crawley apparently approved of Alex’s taking charge. He walked out behind the still closing door.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I can do this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alex thought. It was hopeful, sweet and pure, the kind of hope that set your heart racing at a hundred miles an hour with euphoria, even if you were standing still. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>freeing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was stupidly optimistic but Alex didn’t care. He had two traitors to track down.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, to make up for a kinda-maybe-long time without an update, a longer chapter. Stuff is about to go down!<br/>And I'm sorry if this is confusing because it draws weird links to stuff that happened like three chapters ago, but I'll probably do more of that.<br/>Also, this is kinda random but kinda related. Names. Cluanach is an Irish surname (which I have misspelled a few chapters ago, so sorry), I read somewhere that it means something like deceitful, rogue or quick-witted. Cel Tradat is a Romanian surname meaning 'The Betrayed'. So hence, the chapter title<br/>ALSO also. The video conference room at the end of the chapter is somewhat like MTAC from NCIS, if you watch it, but not exactly, so you now know what kind of set-up I was imagining.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>